


Smolder

by RoseChintz



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Crack, Dorian is a dragon, Dragon Dorian, Dragon!Dorian, M/M, Shapeshifting, a poor attempt at comedy, this is so silly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseChintz/pseuds/RoseChintz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts from my Hothouse Orchid fic, in which Dorian is a dragon who learned how to shapeshift so he could be where the people are. Discontinued - I'm not a writer, I just had a fling with it. I think I'm done now!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stoke the Fires

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter's prompt: San_Hitalsuru said, "a good steamy scene with dorian having a few dragon aspects like horns and eyes and breathing smoke <3"

 

 

 

“I’ve got a problem,” Bull announced. He did so with a grin and a swagger as he ducked past the tentflap, and he carried the sort of tone that implied whatever _problem_ he had was not at all a genuine one.

Dorian knew that he _should_ finish cleaning his staff’s focus; that the routine could wear thin or be forgotten completely were he to abandon the task for later.

One does tend to get a bit fuzzy around the edges when one is madly in love, however.

So Dorian set his staff aside and sat back, letting the muscles in his arms and shoulders work, and regarded his lover with a debonair smirk. “I’ve everything but a solution, I’m sure.”

The Bull laughed and set his weapon down, armor coming off in practiced layers until he was left with little to unlace save his boots and pants. “See,” he continued, propping one of his boots against his bedroll as he unlaced it. Dorian scoffed. “I’ve got this real handsome mage. Dead sexy, even.”

“That doesn’t sound like a problem,” Dorian replied. He could feel himself posturing; angling himself just so to be that much more enticing. It didn’t bother him.

“Well, _that’s_ not the problem, no.” Iron Bull laid out his bedroll and then snatched Dorian off the floor and into his lap, startling the mage into laughter. “The problem is he’s real handsome, dead sexy, _and_ a dragon, hiding all that power under a pretty face. Hiding those _horns.”_ They were breathing each other’s air now, giddily treading the early stages of flirtation that lead to the sort of fuck you masturbate to later.

“Still doesn’t sound like a problem,” Dorian chuckled, and it turned to a groan as Bull began unbuckling the mage’s robes to nuzzle at his neck. “I doubt—yes, _there,_ if you please—I doubt I would be very well received if I walked around with horns and claws, Bull. People don’t generally appreciate that sort of thing out of someone who isn’t Qunari. And even the Qunari, they don’t appreciate very much.”

“Hey, since when am I people? Come on, _kadan._ Show me some teeth. Let that _ataashi_ out.” Bull licked a stripe up Dorian’s throat as his fingers worked open the laces of Dorian’s trousers. “Just a little?”

And Dorian, well. Dorian was feeling sweet talked. He was feeling like the center of attention, and like he was loved, and like he was the most glorious thing The Bull had ever seen. And by all rights, he was. So he gripped his lover, dragged Bull up to meet his eyes by the base of one horn as Dorian’s own began growing out of his skull. He focused – what was desirable, in this instance? How best to hide little draconic surprises in the human form? His nails went hard and pointed as his teeth went sharp. His skin stayed smooth but became mottled and patterned, his pupils narrowed to slits, and his breath felt hot; like the memory of fire without any yet called into being. The Bull stared, awed and reverent.

“Just a little?” Dorian repeated, his partner’s silent stare beginning to worry him. His voice had gone rough, and carried a growl beneath it. _Kaffas,_ he thought. _I hadn’t intended that part._  Dorian’s worries and musings were cut off by The Bull’s mouth planted firmly on his, his tongue licking its way into Dorian’s eager mouth. The Qunari met pointed teeth and groaned; Dorian arched into the sound and tried to stop smiling into the kiss. He raked his clawed hands down his lover’s back – not too hard, but none too gentle, either. Bull _moaned,_ and shivered under Dorian’s roaming hands _._

Dorian screwed his eyes shut. He could feel his control slipping, magic creeping away from him – it was one thing to keep a spell over himself completely, but to chip away at parts of it invited disaster. Dorian didn’t want to worry Bull, though – not when he was this entranced, not when he was enjoying it this much. The mage broke their kiss to let smoke escape from his mouth – anything to keep Bull interested, keep him _here -_ and the Qunari let forth a litany of curses that sounded like a prayer. Bull kissed his way back down Dorian’s neck – over his chest and down to his groin, this time, stopping only to suck bruises onto his inner thighs – and the dragon gripped his lover’s horns. _Relax, Dorian,_ he thought to himself. _You kept your form in check every other time you’ve had sex. This shouldn’t be any different._ He opened his eyes to watch the Qunari swallow his cock, and it proved to be a fatal error.

“Wait, Bull— _kaff—stop!”_ Dorian shoved a wide-eyed Bull away from him and bolted for the tentflap, scrabbling on all fours and panting. He could feel himself losing his shape, the form slipping away from him like water in his hands, and he barely made it out of the tent before he became _himself_ again. His great chest heaved with the panic of having almost crushed his lover, and he walked far enough to be clear of the campground before curling himself onto the ground.

“Dorian, what—oh.” The Bull ceased to panic as soon as he saw the dragon curled but yards away, and he stood there awkwardly, unsure of what he’d done. Adaar was soundly asleep in her tent – a little _too_ soundly for Bull’s comfort, that didn’t bode well for an assassination attempt – and Cole smiled softly at Bull from his watchpost, seemingly unperturbed by the proceedings. Well. That was probably a good thing, right?

Dorian lifted his head from where he lay and looked at The Bull. He didn’t growl or turn away, so the Qunari took it as his invitation to approach. He walked within arm’s reach of one of Dorian’s forelegs before easing himself onto the ground next to him.

“Uh. Hey, big guy. Heh. _Big_ guy. You, uh. You alright? Not sure what happened back there.”

Dorian snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Oh. Guess you can’t really tell me right now, huh.”

Cole chose that moment to appear next to The Bull, and the Qunari had to put some genuine effort into not startling. “He says you didn’t do anything wrong, The Iron Bull. It was just too hard to focus, being in between like that. The illusion fell off, and now he’s trying to calm down.”

Dorian’s head raised up and away, and he refused to look at either of them. “You would be able to see him blushing if he didn’t have scales,” Cole added helpfully.

Bull took in the way Dorian was carefully curled and, after a moment of realization, doubled over laughing. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a problem, huh, _kadan?”_ Dorian huffed and curled tighter around himself as The Bull wiped away tears. “Oh, just _clean_ it, you can reach.”

Dorian made a growl into an excellent interpretation of a disgusted grunt.

“What! It’s what dogs do. It’s what _I’d_ do, if I could reach.”

Dorian snapped at him.

“Alright, _ataashi._ Whatever you need. See you in the morning.” The Bull wrapped an arm under Dorian’s head and kissed the bridge of his snout, as if he were a horse and not a dragon large enough to swallow most men whole.

Dorian might have found it in himself to be offended, had the gesture not been so endearing.

 

And when Dorian slipped into the tent in the early hours, shifting back into the shape of a man just quickly enough to slip through the flap and collect the clothing that hadn’t been ripped in his transformation, The Bull only smiled and kissed him hello.

 

 

 

It took the entirety of their journey back to Skyhold for Dorian’s embarrassment to wane enough to acknowledge it further. Thankfully they had only been in the Hinterlands, so it was late the next evening that The Bull found his dragon holed up in the library.

“Ah. Hello, Bull— _amatus._ I do apologize for last night, it was—“

“Hey. Don’t worry about it, _kadan._ It was just an idea.”

The Iron Bull crossed the room to take one of Dorian’s hands in his, and kissed it as if he were greeting royalty.

It worked, because of _course_ it did, and Dorian relaxed immediately.

“One of our less brilliant ones, certainly. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe you owe me an apology.”

“I—do?” Bull asked, looking concerned.

“No. An _apology.”_

“Oh— _oh!_ You want me to finish sucking your cock!”

Dorian sighed into his hands and sat heavily in his chair. “Just get on your knees, _amatus,_ if you would be so kind. For the smartest man I know, you’re being awfully thick.”

“You like ‘em thick,” Bull smirked as he began working Dorian’s pants down.

“Maker, do I.”

 

\-----

 

_It was just an idea,_ he’d said. But it was an idea that had clung to Dorian’s brain like a Fereldan stew clings to one’s ribs.

So, naturally, Dorian did the reckless thing and he practiced.

 

\-----

 

“Dorian!” The Inquisitor greeted her friend happily as she strode into his corner of the library. “You’ll never guess the sort of letter I received today—“ She stopped dead in her tracks and stared. Dorian was sitting in his chair, one ankle resting on his knee, a book open in his lap, and he had a magnificent pair of horns growing from his head.

“Inquisitor…? Ah, it’s the horns, isn’t it. I apologize. I can put them away if they bother you.” The horns curled back into his head and vanished. Adaar blinked.

“Oh, no, it’s…er. Doesn’t bother me. Just…new.”

Dorian shrugged. “Just practicing.”

 

\-----

 

“You’re… _hanging out_ a bit, dear.”

“Ah, yes. Testing my abilities to hold the spell together. No rest for the wicked, as it were.”

“Of course,” Vivienne replied airily. She took in Dorian’s slit eyes and sharp teeth; the claws carefully resting against her fine porcelain so as not to scratch it. Aesthetic, all of them; no practical applications. She smiled into her tea. “I’ll fail to mention it to The Bull.”

“Naturally. Thank you.”

 

\-----

 

A month after Dragon Incident Number Four, as Bull had come to call it – they had _numbers_ now, evidently – The Bull came to Dorian in the library and caught him with claws.

“Ooh. Looks good on you, _kadan._ Gotta admit I’m surprised to see you trying that out again.”

Dorian whirled around, nearly dropping his book. “ _Fasta vass,_ Bull, you startled me. And I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about your—oh.” His claws were gone.

“Eloquent. Tonight, then?” Dorian waved The Bull off with a kiss to his palm, and the Qunari went on his way, somewhat perplexed.

 

Later that night, Dorian didn’t knock, but strode into Bull’s room without preamble or greeting.

“You know,” The Bull said, following his example, “I’m pretty sure you did know what I was talking about. I’m pretty sure I caught you practicing.”

“Oh, couldn’t you _pretend_ to be surprised?” Dorian muttered, aggrieved. He unbuckled his robe in the middle of the room and let it drop to the floor, revealing a fantastically tailored shirt and trousers that left little to the imagination. As The Bull watched him, Dorian changed; his eyes became wild and draconic as his skin took on the patterns of scales. Massive horns curled from his perfectly styled hair, and his teeth became fanged and wicked beneath his moustache. Dorian lifted a clawed hand to his teeth to test their sharpness and appeared satisfied when his lover let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Just a little,” Dorian grinned, sharp-toothed and sly. He shoved Bull bodily onto the bed.

“Happy birthday, _amatus."_

 

 

 


	2. Smitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Smote, not sure,” He said. “Smitten, though? Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, I've been imagining Dorian to basically look like the Highland Ravager in the Emprise but mottled browns and golds. He's a bit bigger, but not by much. http://66.media.tumblr.com/43009d527e67ad79ff800d905bcf7f73/tumblr_nh6bcafP1o1rvh2z2o3_1280.png

 

 

Inquisitor Adaar wound her way through the Hissing Wastes, Varric, Dorian, and The Iron Bull in tow. Her scouts had suggested she investigate the old dwarven ruins and fires in the distance; possibly markers for an ancient road. Naturally, she mapped her way through the desert based solely on the placement of the next visible amrita vein. The Bull kept trying to hold Dorian’s hand, and Dorian had jogged up alongside Adaar to spare himself the indignity of slapping it away for the eighth time.

“I’m only _saying,_ Inquisitor, that your best warrior was a spy, your preferred assassin knows more about the fade than I do, and the Inquisition’s most talented mage happens to be a dragon. Why you assumed our one and only field dwarf would know anything about dwarven ruins is beyond me.”

Varric allowed himself a very aggrieved and equally put-upon sigh. “Nothing like racist stereotyping to get you up in the morning.”

“Nice going, boss,” Bull said through a smile.

Adaar scowled. “Shut up, Bull.”

Bull’s face foretold an impending pun, but before he could deliver it he straightened up and his face went serious. “I smell smoke,” he said, and inclined his head over a sand dune. “Must be more Venatori. Those hunters seem too smart to start fires out here.”

Adaar turned to Dorian, scoffing, “Why didn’t _you_ smell that?” before sliding down the dune.

“I’m a _dragon,_ not a—a _hound,”_ Dorian spat, struggling to keep his footing as he scrambled down after her.

Varric was already down the dune and perched on a rocky outcropping. “Hush, sparkler,” he cautioned. “Voices travel pretty far out here, and it looks like the Venatori brought their friends.” Dorian glared and was about to retort when he joined his party on the ridge and saw the fortress.

In truth, it could barely be referred to as such. The collection of scaffolding and ruins built onto the cliff face could only be considered a fortress in a wilderness such as this one. The issue remained, however, that four members of the Inquisition sat perched on a ledge over what must have been two dozen Venatori, Red Templars, and red lyrium abominations. Two dozen or _more._

The Inquisitor, in her infinite wisdom, grinned at her party, dropped down the scaffolding, and landed in the middle of the Venatori while bellowing a war cry. Bull shrugged and followed suit.

While Varric cursed, aiming careful bolts without hitting his allies, Dorian scrambled down a ladder to the second level of the makeshift fortress. Bolts flew, and bright flashes of magical energy contrasted with the harsh metallic ringing of weapons and crystals hitting armor. He heard a shout – a pained one, more of a grunt, really, and turned to see a lyrium-infested horror raising its great crystalline arm to come down on Bull’s head.

Dorian didn’t see the sharp, cruel chunk of red lyrium that had been flung at him by a different Templar.

As he raised a barrier around Bull with a shout and prepared to freeze the horror in place, lack of ice proficiency nonwithstanding, the shard whistled through the air and cut a clean slice through Dorian’s armor and along his bicep. He reeled, losing his balance and tumbling backward onto the sand, ears ringing. Dorian gasped, stunned and winded from the blow the fall dealt to his back. The sounds of the battle were distant and muffled, and so Dorian felt, rather than heard, a Templar’s sick and distorted laugh as something _else_ hit him. Something heavy and horrible, something that felt like drowning and suffocating and expanding and _tearing_ and—

And.

There was a high dragon on its back in the sand.

 

\-----  


Adaar slid bravely down a half-incinerated ladder after prying another chunk of volcanic aurum out of the rock face. “Find anything, Varric?” she asked, trying to find spare room in her pack for the metal.

 “Orders, coin, this one has a weird bracelet made out of hair. Some good stuff.” Varric straightened from the body he was hunched over. “You know, I don’t think throat cutting is really necessary when most of the bodies have been reduced to charcoal, Inquisitor.”

“Good habit to have,” she shrugged.

She was then hit squarely in the back of the head by a piece of leather. Dorian was spinning in circles and kicking his hind leg wildly in an attempt to dislodge the remainder of his boot from his claws.

“Fuck’s sake, Dorian! Would you— _watch it!”_ She ducked as Dorian’s tail almost took out what little scaffolding hadn’t been burnt to a crisp or torn away by his great wings when he had righted himself during the battle.

“Oh, leave him. He’ll figure it out,” Bull answered calmly. He had been tasked with sorting through their papers in search of orders or information, and would have found it rather boring were it not for the free sideshow.

Varric approached Dorian, holding his arm up to ward of the sand that was being flung about. “Need a hand, Sparkler? I’ve got two, you’ve got none.”

Dorian’s head whipped around and stopped just a meter short of Varric’s face. He growled lowly and smoke began to pour out of his nostrils.

Varric held his hands up in surrender and backed away.

 

“Aww, what’s the matter, big guy? Got something stuck on your tootsie?” Dorian snarled, but the sound turned into a choked-off grunt when he turned to face Bull. After a moment’s staring contest, Dorian rolled his eyes and flopped dramatically onto his side.

 

Varric walked over to the Inquisitor, handing her the papers he had found and crossing his arms in amusement as Dorian let Bull pick the leather off his claw. “They’re quite a pair,” he mused.

“Yes, well. He’s a very competent mage, but we may need to get him some more training if he’s going to skitter about like a frightened cat, tear a whole fort down, and _light everything on fire_ just because he changed back without expecting it. I find it hard to believe Dorian’s never been smote by a Templar before.”

Varric thought for a moment, watching The Bull rubbing Dorian’s belly scutes while Dorian pretended not to enjoy it.

“Smote, not sure,” He said. “Smitten, though? Definitely.”


End file.
